.d.
.latest.
.older.
.tell.me.
.sell.me.
.dirt.
.mylove.
.c'mon.
.me.

.sponsor me.
.PLEASE.

2002-11-08 - 1:43 p.m.

i returned home almost immediately after leaving this morning. i needed to hear something. people on the bus were moody. not sexy pouty edward gorey moody. more like i hate you becuse my life is unsatisfying and now that the rain has started i can't fool myself any longer moody. so i went home. because i don't hate you. or you. only me sometimes. and i needed to carry that feeling into my laptop. how organic. and like i said, i needed to hear something. like somehow there is a bassline that would make sense of my head space. but there is. there always is. so i fucked around with some tracks. i keep building in order learn the software. but now i have all these songs with no arrangement. they don't exist in a way. it is the process of making them that is like codiene. when i first started playing with reason, i would lose hours. now, i get discouraged. i need to get to the next level of this. there is a super techie gear-fucker boy who comes in to my bar. he tweaks out on sounds and tech talk. people stop listening when he says things like "patch it back on itself and it will sound like speak-n-spell". i start to drool. he is going to teach me what he knows. he has antennae. and he loves whatever i'm playing when he walks in so i've got techghettocredibility. its a legal term. go look it up. it will say: word up, solar.

< yeah >